


Let's Start the New Year Right

by EveningStarcatcher



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale owns a bookshop, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Pining, Secret Admirer, crowley works at a coffeeshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningStarcatcher/pseuds/EveningStarcatcher
Summary: Crowley has been crushing on the man who owns the bookshop across the street from his work for months, but only from afar. When his friend Anathema drags him to a New Years Eve party, he finds himself face to face with the strange and beautiful man of his affections.For the OTP Prompt event! Based on the prompt: Aziraphale and Crowley go separately to a New Year's Party and end up standing next to each other during the countdown to midnightTitle from theIrving Berlin song
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 147
Collections: Good Omens OTP Prompts Event Works





	Let's Start the New Year Right

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the 2020 I wish existed. One where we are free to gather together without fear of illness. Where we are allowed to meet in person with those around us, to travel to those further away, to hug, to fall in love with the beautiful stranger standing before us.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful betas, Sk3tch and imnotokaywiththerunning  
> And thanks to bisasterdi for organizing the event and to darcylindbergh for coordinating the interviews! 
> 
> <3

“Go say hello!” Anathema whispered in a strong, hissing tone.

“Absolutely not!” Crowley planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. 

It was New Years Eve. Crowley had been avoiding parties for years, preferring the quiet solitude of an evening in and a nice brunch with friends the next day. He didn’t have any family to visit and had long accepted that he’d spend the holidays alone. So he did, even when invited to a party. Parties were either boring as hell or embarrassing. Better to decline the invitation and save him from making a fool of himself after one too many glasses of champagne and joining in karaoke. He wouldn’t remember it, but everyone else would.

This year, however, Anathema had insisted that he accompany her to her friend’s party. Or maybe it was a coworker’s party? Crowley didn’t really know, he hadn’t been paying attention. Mostly tuned out after the word “party.” What he did know was that Anathema had insisted he accompany her, promised him he’d have fun (“Great group of people! Really good at games, very interesting conversations, and god awful at karaoke - you’ll fit right in!”), picked him up at his flat, and nearly dragged him up the stairs into the house that was already bustling with noise. It was a nice place, open and spacious and decorated with twinkling lights and glittery silver and gold decorations. Everything seemed to sparkle and shimmer. It was almost magical.

Crowey had immediately found a nice quiet corner to hide in. That was where it happened. He had caught a glimpse. His jaw dropped and his cheeks flushed and Anathema twirled around to see what had caused the reaction. He tried to catch her arm, stop her from turning, but it was too late. Her dark eyes were huge and bright with intentions that made Crowley’s stomach knot.

“Why?” Anathema clung to his arm, trying to drag him across the crowded room. “You’ve been smitten with him for months and this could be your chance to meet him. At least find out his name!”

“I am not smitten,” Crowley said through clenched teeth, trying not to trip over Anathema’s deep purple skirts as they swirled around their feet.

“You absolutely are, and I for one can’t stand it anymore!” Anathema rolled her dark eyes, devoid of her usual large round glasses. “Look, he’s by the food. We’ll go get some snacks and you can just,” she leaned into Crowley for a brief moment, “bump into him.” 

Crowley was sure nothing could remove that mischievous smile off of her face. He shook his head. He knew he had no choice. He never did, where Anathema was concerned. He wasn’t even sure how they had become friends. It felt more like he had been adopted by this wonderful, witchy woman who constantly frustrated and annoyed him. He was so grateful for her friendship.

But sometimes she took it too far.

They stopped when they reached the table laid out with all manner of treats, sparkling in the strings of lights draped across the table and hung on the wall above. Crowley was handed a plate and he began to pile it up, unaware of what he was serving himself. His attention was focused on the man standing just a few feet to his left. He positively glowed in the golden light, dressed in a fine cream suit with a pale blue and gold brocade waistcoat. His pale curls, nearly white, a downy halo over his soft, rounded features. He was smiling, laughing, lines forming at the corners of his eyes, his smile bright, his laugh joyful and glorious over the chatter of the room.

He hadn’t noticed that Anathema had been guiding him ever closer until he glanced over to find the man just a breath away. She reached out and took his plate from him, smiled politely and bumped him with her hip, sending him tumbling into the beautiful man.

“Oh, dear! Are you alright?”

\----------------------------------------

Eight months ago Crowley had been covering for a coworker on the morning shift and he was grumpy as hell. He much preferred to spend his mornings sleeping in before his afternoon shift, but here he was. Doing the right thing. The kind thing. 

It was doing nothing for his image as a tough guy, cool and aloof.

His sunglasses stayed firmly over his eyes and his arms, for the most part, stayed crossed tightly over his chest. He rolled his eyes and grumbled at customers who smiled too much or talked too loud or ordered complex drinks or had the audacity to ask him for anything.

“I got this,” Anathema cut in, noticing Crowley white knuckling the counter as the patron repeated her order for the third time, stressing the importance of exactly how many pumps of each flavor she absolutely needed in order to make it through the day and stressing that she can taste the difference between 1% and 2% milk, despite the extra espresso and flavor shots. 

“Yeah. Good. I’ll…” he muttered, wandering aimlessly toward the breakroom.

“Restock the coffee beans, wipe down the tables, sweep, take out the garbage. Anything that keeps you away from them.” Anathema instructed him as she began the woman’s order.

“I’m picking the music.”

“Fine,” Anathema rolled her eyes. “Anything to get you to stop scowling.”

He strung together a series of syllables that were vaguely adjacent to the english language and started his favorite Spotify playlist.

He was relieved at the quiet when he stepped into the storage room. He’d never forgive Hastur for needing the morning off. But it was just one morning. He’d handle it and celebrate with a long nap. 

He located the bags of coffee beans and set to work. He checked off his to-do list and hummed along with Queen and The Beatles.

“Crowley! Can you take out the trash before the lunch rush?” Anathema called from behind the counter as he wiped down the last of the available tables.

“Sure,” he called back with a wave, tucking the cloth into his back pocket. He grabbed the bags, tied them, and carried them gingerly to the bins in the alley.

He tossed the bags in and leaned against the brick wall, taking a deep breath and steadying his hands from too much coffee.

He heard a commotion across the street and looked over. Someone sat curled on the sidewalk, a man leaning over him, hands fluttering nervously over the figure.

Crowley stepped out of the alley and watched the scene, and the figure, unfold before him: the man, who must be an angel, cared for the boy who was barely a teenager sitting on the sidewalk. The kid seemed a bit dazed, a little frightened, his hands covered in a fair amount of blood. The angel pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it gently to the bleeding nose with the kid’s hand. The handkerchief was staining red and the angel instructed the kid to pinch his nose as well. The angel talked, making the kid laugh, soothing the fear from his young features, all the while smiling something soft and reassuring.

When the bleeding stopped and the kid was deemed in no danger of serious medical issues, he thanked the angel and headed to the bus stop. The angel nodded at no one and disappeared through the doors of the bookshop across the street, turning to glance down the street, making sure that the kid made it onto the bus, before closing the door behind him.

A woman crossed the street and headed toward the doors of the coffee shop.

“What was that all about?” Crowley asked her as she passed, still staring at the bookshop.

“Kid was running to the bus stop, someone ran into him, and gave him the worst nosebleed I’ve ever seen. But he’s okay now.” She smiled and slipped inside.

Crowley headed back through the alley to the side entrance. He’d been working at _Spill The Beans_ for over a year and he’d never seen this man before. He had barely even noticed the bookshop on the corner, but now it was all he could think about. The bookshop and the angel across the street, in his argyle sweater vest, his bow tie, and the little spectacles that sat upon his upturned nose. That bright smile, the pale curls that haloed his head in the midday sun, the soft roundness of him.

Oh no. Crowey knew this feeling. And he knew that he should shut it off now.

Instead he tucked a fresh blueberry muffin into a white waxed paper bag and headed across the street. He set the bag on the doorstep, knocked, and sprinted back across the street.

He hid in the alley and watched as the angel emerged, glancing around in confusion before noticing the bag by his feet. He picked it up and read the message scrawled messily on the outside of the bag: For Soho’s Guardian Angel. A wide grin spread across his features as he peeked inside the bag. He looked around, presumably for a glimpse of whoever had left it for him. Finding no one, he called a quiet thank you into the intersection, and disappeared into the shop once more.

Since then Crowley worked the morning shift once a week, always keeping an eye out for his angel and sneaking a treat to him whenever he could. He left him a coffee once, and watched as the angel gave it away to a very harried mother of three. The next time he tried tea, and that seemed to go well. When he left a hot cocoa, he saw the angel lift it, sniff it, and wiggle. _He wiggled_. Beamed and wiggled and sighed in delight.

Crowley swallowed hard and took a mental note that cocoa was the preferred drink of this strange angel.

That night he tried googling the name of the bookshop, but hadn’t been able to find anything. He checked every social media site as well as a general search, but there was only a phone number listed. Of course he wouldn’t have an online presence. He was far too old fashioned. Probably didn’t even have a cell phone.

About two months in, Anathema noticed the missing muffins and scones and forced him to explain.

“You _like_ him!” She cried.

“Do not. Just repaying a kindness,” Crowley grumbled.

“If you were repaying a kindness, you would have stopped after the first time!” she put her hands on her hips. “Anthony Crowley, you are in love with the so-called guardian angel across the street.”

“Am not!” Crowley cursed himself for letting the nickname slip out during his explanation.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged and swept away toward the break room. “Try adding some salted caramel to the hot cocoa. I’ve been told it’s very good.” 

He did. The angel seemed to agree, if his wide eyes and surprised giggle were anything to go by.

And yet, he could never work up the courage to actually go into the shop. Could never find it in him to stand at the door and introduce himself. Instead he fled and watched from the alley across the street, like a coward. No, not a coward. A lovesick fool.

So, for eight months Crowley had been dreaming of an angel. A guardian angel, it seemed, as Crowley had witnessed more than just the one instance of him coming to the rescue of some poor soul. He was always there to help someone in need and always did so with a bright smile and comforting hug or gesture.

And now he was in the same room as him, and Anathema was pushing him toward the angel. He was glad he was wearing his best slim-fit suit and his favorite crimson tie. He knew he looked good, but he was still nervous. Would the soft, old fashioned angel be interested in him, with his sharp angles and all black wardrobe?

Oh, how he hoped.

\----------------------------------------

Crowley found himself wrapped in the soft, and surprisingly strong arms of his angel, resting against his broad chest. He blinked up into bright blue eyes, the laughter from moments before gone, replaced with surprise and concern.

“Ngk.” _Smooth_. 

“Are you alright?” The angel repeated.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.” Crowley nodded and reluctantly pushed himself out of the angel’s arms. Broad hands lingered on Crowley’s thin arms until the angel was satisfied that Crowley was steady on his feet once more.

“No harm done!” He smiled, and Crowley was sure his heart stopped beating. He was okay with going out this way. Death by the divine, overwhelmed by angelic beauty. Yeah, that was a pretty good way to go.

But his heart kept on beating and his lungs kept on breathing, and he smiled back.

“Crowley,” he held out his hand, the other straightening his dark glasses.

“Very nice to meet you Crowley. I’m Aziraphale.”

 _Aziraphale_.

It was the most ridiculous name Crowley had ever heard. Also the most perfect.

And then Aziraphale’s hand was in his, just for a brief moment, before retreating to clasp his other hand and rest against the gentle swell of his stomach.

Crowley swallowed hard. He had dreamed about being held against that stomach, being allowed to wrap his arms around it. It looked perfect for snuggling. _Aziraphale_ looked perfect for snuggling. So soft and welcoming and kind and angelic and…

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The angel’s voice cut through Crowley’s fantasy and he felt a gentle pressure of a hand on his arm. Aziraphale’s brow was furrowed in worry.

“Yeah, m’fine. Really. Promise.” Crowley smiled awkwardly and silently cursed himself for being such a mess. 

“I thought I’d lost you for a moment there. It seemed like you’d drifted off to some other world.” Aziraphale’s smile was creeping back into his face.

“Just thinking about the, er, food. There was a tart thing that looked pretty good.” Crowley shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Oh yes!” Aziraphale beamed then, and Crowley thought he might fall over from the sheer force of it. “It is _delightful_! You really must try some! Here,” he slipped an arm into Crowley’s and led him over to it. They passed Anathema on the way, who popped a grape into her smug mouth and wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“Here, let’s get you a plate.” Aziraphale lifted one of the small dessert plates and handed it to him. “Looks like there’s enough for two!” And then he wiggled. _He wiggled_. So overcome with delight that it overflowed into the most adorable movement. It should have seemed out of place for a man of his age, but it didn’t. It was sweet and endearing and Crowley felt himself fall a little bit harder for this stranger.

“Meant to be, then,” Crowley held out his plate for Aziraphale to serve him.

“Ineffable, even.” Aziraphale chuckled as he served himself the last of the tart.

“Ineffable?” Crowley asked.

“Beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.” Aziraphale once again smiled at Crowley and he wanted to curl up and bask in its warmth. Possibly forever.

Definitely forever.

Fuck.

Without really processing it, he let Aziraphale lead him to a quiet corner of the room and found himself pushed into a leather armchair. Aziraphale sat across the corner from him, a small end table tucked between them. The chairs were plush and comfortable and upholstered in a deep, chocolate brown that accented the dark wood furniture and cosy sage green of the walls. Crowley was grateful that the lighting was low here and more grateful for his sunglasses.

“I hope it’s not too bright here,” Aziraphale glanced up at him, his face turned down toward the plate in his lap.

“I…” Crowley stared as Aziraphale’s long silver lashes fluttered and the entirety of the English (and every other) language left him.

“I do hope it’s not rude of me to mention it, but I noticed your glasses and assumed it was due to a light sensitivity.” His words started to tumble out, accelerating as he went. “I apologize if you’d rather not discuss it, I just thought maybe this corner would suit you better than the more brightly lit ones, but let's try the tart shall we? I mean, I’ve already had some, but you haven’t, so, let’s, I mean you-“

“S’nice of you. To pick this corner. Thanks.” Crowley smiled and earned himself another blinding beam from the angel.

“You really must try the tart now, my dear. It’s positively piquant!” His voice nearly squeaked on the final word.

Crowley, who has just slipped a forkful of food into his mouth, promptly choked on it. Aziraphale’s hands fluttered about, unsure how to help, as Crowley shoved his face into his elbow and coughed it out.

When he recovered, he sat primly in his seat, looked Aziraphale dead in the eye, and asked “I’m sorry, ‘piquant’?”

“Yes. Why?” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed.

Crowley threw his head back and laughed. He might’ve even slapped his knee. He didn’t care. He was happy.

Truly happy.

For the first time in years, he let go and let the joy wash over him. Here, in his own little corner, oblivious to everyone around him except the man he’d been admiring for months, who was staring at him with wide eyes that betrayed his mirth at Crowley’s reaction.

“What’s wrong with piquant?” The angel’s lips pulled into a tight line, but the wrinkles around his eyes showed laughter. “It’s a perfectly good word to describe something with an appetizing flavor!”

“Nothing wrong with it, angel, except we’re about to ring in the year 2021 and I don’t think anyone’s used that word for at least a hundred years!”

“That’s not true!” Aziraphale protested, playing into the dramatics.

“It _iiiiiisssss_!”

“I say it!” 

“Well, of course you do! You also wear bow ties! And tartan at that!” Crowley gestured to the pale blue and tan plaid at his throat.

“Tartan is stylish! As are bow ties! Besides,” his eyes glimmered with mischief, “we can’t all wear slim black suits. How drab the world would be if we did!”

Crowley’s jaw opened and snapped back shut, unable to decide the best way to respond. Aziraphale’s demeanor shifted and he held out his hands in an apologetic manner.

“What I mean is, I would look simply awful all dressed in black all the time! Lighter colors suit me better, you see, while black fits you very well! I mean, suits you, I mean your suit, I mean, you look very good. In black.”

The angel’s cheeks were burning red and he refused to meet Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley’s stomach knotted with the possibility of it all. Could this mean that he found Crowley attractive? Was there hope? Could he possibly return his feelings? Could this be the first of many days spent together? 

_Slow down, Crowley. Don’t go too fast._

And yet… there was a real connection there.

As if by fate, or some divine, possibly ineffable, design, the voice of Freddie Mercury soared into the room.

_Can anybody find me…._

“Dance with me.” He stood and held out a hand.

Aziraphale’s face lifted in surprise. “What?”

“Dance with me. I love Queen and it’d be a shame to just sit here instead of enjoying it to the fullest.” He let his lips pull up into a soft smile. 

“I- I can't dance. A waltz, perhaps, or the gavotte, b-“

Crowley took his arm and pulled him up, leading him to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the room.

“Come on, angel! Let loose! Have a little fun!” He waggled his eyebrows above his glasses and twisted Aziraphale’s arm to spin him. Crowley was rewarded with the brightest giggle as Aziraphale allowed himself to be led through the first few steps.

_I have spent all my years in believing you_  
_But I just can't get no relief, Lord!_  
_Somebody, ooh somebody,_  
_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

They settled into a strange sort of hold, Aziraphale adopting something in the realm of classic ballroom frame, while Crowley’s limbs were loose and casual despite his rigid nerves at finally being allowed to touch the man he’d admired from afar for so long. 

It was magic.

They swayed awkwardly at first, but found a rhythm that worked for both of them until it became easy. They moved together. They smiled and laughed.

_I get down on my knees and I start to pray_  
_'Til the tears run down from my eyes_  
_Lord, somebody, ooh somebody_  
_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

Crowley’s hands were on his angel, feeling the soft warmth beneath fabric, the solid strength of his muscles, the intoxicating sensation of having him close.

He released him now, sliding away, one hand still clasped in Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale smiled and spun back in toward Crowley. He bounced lightly against Crowley’s chest, his face mere inches from Crowley’s, warming Crowley’s arm where it was wrapped around his waist. Blue eyes sparkled as a faint pinkness creeped across his round cheeks.

_Ooh somebody, ooh somebody_  
_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

“Bit warm in here. Fresh air?” Crowley breathed, trying not to get lost in the kaleidoscope of blues and greens that existed in the angel’s eyes.

Aziraphale nodded and released Crowley’s hand. Crowley unraveled himself, his arm feeling strangely long and boneless, letting it hang by his side, still tingling from the contact.

He led Aziraphale down the hallway to a small office. He crossed the room and opened the window, leaning out and breathing deeply.

Aziraphale closed the door behind him and joined Crowley, who was now leaning against the wall beside the window, looking at Aziraphale.

“Bet you love winter, don’t you? You seem like the cosy, holiday type.” Crowley smiled. 

He felt more vulnerable in here, in the dim light, alone with the man he’d been dreaming of for months. He shoved his hands in his pockets and his feelings back inside his chest.

“Not a big winter fan, myself,” Crowley continued, looking out at the moonlight sparkling off the snow. “Cold blooded, me. But I bet you love thick jumpers and hot cocoa and decorating the tree and everything.”

“I do love the holidays,” Aziraphale admitted. Crowley could feel the angel’s eyes on him as he spoke. “The festivity of it all, the decorating, the music, the food, the excuse to spend time with those you love, but I admit, I’m not the biggest fan of winter.”

Crowey turned to him then, all glimmering eyes and crooked smiles.

“Really? Why?”

“Well, it does get very cold, which is cosy if you get to stay in, but not when one has to go out into it. And the bus schedule is atrocious when there’s snow or slush on the roads. And it feels like it’s dark all day long.” Aziraphale’s hands wrung against his stomach and Crowley longed to still them.

“Yeah, those are true, but they’re not the real reason. Are they?”

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped up to meet Crowley’s. They were… scared.

“You can tell me, I promise your secret is safe with me, but you don’t have to. I’m practically a stranger. I probably wouldn’t trust me, either.” Crowley shrugged and shivered.

“Shall we close the window?” Aziraphale asked, voice soft in the quiet room.

“Are you cold?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, studying Crowley, then nodded. Crowley closed the window and leaned back against the wall in one smooth motion. 

“It’s the darkness that really does it.” Aziraphale’s voice was nearly a whisper, his eyes turned downward. “It’s easy during the daylight hours. Easy to stay busy and forget. Focus on work and appointments and chores and trips out. Keep one’s mind occupied. It’s harder at night. When I’m home, cooking dinner for one. When the only company I have is my books. When I slip into bed and there’s no one there to keep me warm. Winter nights are long and cold and terribly lonely.”

Silence. Stillness.

“Always have been.”

“Always?” Crowley’s voice caught in his throat.

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered up to meet Crowley’s.

They stood there in the dim, quiet room, eyes locked. Crowley was overwhelmed by the sadness in his angel’s eyes, but also by the hope. He could feel in his chest how fiercely Aziraphale still hoped. Still believed that someday he wouldn’t have to feel that loneliness. That one day he would go home and cook for two, share an evening and then a bed. He would be warm and loved and no longer alone.

Crowley wanted to be part of that.

He blinked and he was just inches from Aziraphale. His hand rested on the angel’s arm. Aziraphale’s face was angled up, lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling just a bit quicker than before.

Crowley leaned in. 

_Bang_!

The door slammed open and two voices laughed from the doorway.

“Oi! Sorry, didn’t realize this room was taken!” One said while the other giggled. They were both happy-drunk.

“It’s quite alright. We were just getting a bit of air. Window, see?” Aziraphale was burning red, a smile forced across his face. “We were just heading back, so it’s all yours!”

He strode across the room and slipped past the couple, disappearing into the hallway.

“No bed here. Office.” Crowley said as he rushed after the angel.

Crowley strode quickly down the hallway and back into the party. He saw pale curls bobbing through the people, who were chatting louder now.

Something was shoved into his hands as he weaved his way across the room - a plastic cup. He noticed Anathema across the room to his left, chatting with a rumpled, yet kind, looking young man with glasses and a very nervous smile. She seemed happy and he seemed smitten. Good for her. Crowley would check in with her later for the details. He had a more pressing matter to attend to. He bumped into someone, pressed the cup into their hand and continued making his way through the crowded room. Toward the door. Toward his angel.

“Aziraphale!” He called, just a few feet away now.

Aziraphale turned and a complicated emotion passed over his face. Something like disappointed joy.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Crowley asked, somehow breathless from his journey from the office to Aziraphale’s side.

“It might be for the best.”

“I don’t think so. If you leave now, it’ll be just another long winter night, won’t it?” Crowley shrugged.

“It will be that no matter when I leave,” Aziraphale’s cheeks were still pink, his eyes avoided Crowley’s.

“Not true. If you wait, the night won’t seem so long.”

“Perhaps.” 

“And if you wait, it might not seem so lonely either.”

“It… what?” Aziraphale finally looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Aziraphale, I have to be honest with you. We may have met tonight, but it isn’t the first time I’ve seen you. I work across from your bookshop. The coffee shop. I’m the one who’s been leaving you treats. I'm sorry I wasn’t honest with you, I just wanted to get to know you first, in case you thought it was weird that it was me leaving you those things. It’s just, I saw you with that kid, the one with the epic nosebleed, and you were so kind, a guardian angel, and I wanted to do something kind for you, too. And you didn’t stop, you never stop, so I didn’t either. And I was too afraid to go to the shop. Almost knocked, almost went inside a few times, but then I thought about how gorgeous you are and… I have admired you from afar for months and I would very much like the chance to admire you from closer. If you would like that.”

Aziraphale was still. Not even blinking. Barely breathing.

“Shit. I’m sorry ange- Aziraphale. I shouldn’t have dumped it all on you like that. I just wanted you to know before you left and-“

“I had hoped it was you.”

It was so soft that Crowley almost didn’t hear it. If he hadn’t seen Aziraphale’s lips move, he wouldn’t have believed it was real.

“What?”

“I had seen you, too. Coming and going from work. I wanted to go to the coffee shop, see you up close. Maybe say hello. But every time I had finally worked up the courage to go, there was something left on my doorstep. And there really was no need for more, so I just... didn’t go. But I thought you were… are… incredibly handsome. And now I know that you are also kind and clever and charming.”

_Ten_

“You… really?”

_Nine_

“Oh, yes.”

_Eight_

“So, we’ve been crushing on each other for months-“

_Seven_

“-and have been too afraid to even say hello?” Crowley’s mind was reeling.

_Six_

“It seems so,” Aziraphale giggled.

_Five_

“Go out with me. Let me take you to dinner.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands in his.

_Four_

“Yes. I would love to.” Aziraphale’s eyes glittered.

_Three_

“You can pick. Take you anywhere you want to go.”

_Two_

“Oh, Crowley. I know it may be too fast, but-”

_One_

“-would you kiss me?”

Crowley did. 

He lost himself as he wrapped his angel up in his arms and pressed their lips together softly. His heart leapt in his chest and he felt like he was flying, tumbling through a sky filled with stars.

“No more long, cold, lonely winter nights. That is, if you want.” Crowley laid his forehead against Aziraphale’s.

“I do. Happy New Year, my dear.”

“Happy New Year, angel.”


End file.
